


Never Again

by Arlyshawk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Concussions, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Head Injury, Medicine, m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A run-in with a Revenant in the Cradle of Sulevin goes poor from the get-go and the Inquisitor must be taken back before time runs out. Based on a prompt from the 100 prompts list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> A Concussion is caused by a blow to the head or severe shaking to the head and body.  
> Hemorrhaging in the brain is when a blood vessel bursts and it causes a brain bleed. This blood causes brain cells to be damaged. This can also cause intracranial pressure/swelling also known as cerebral edema. 
> 
> No Inquisitors were harmed in the making of this drabble.

**Prompt: Never Again**

**Characters: Alistair Theirin, Eowyn Trevelyan, Iron Bull, Cassandra Pentaghast, Dorian Pavus, Vivienne De Fer**

Shortly after entering the Cradle of Sulevin were they greeted by the raspy bellow of a Revenant that slams its sword into the cracking floor and lunges. The floor groans, crackles and a phantom hands ceases her round the waist and sends Eowyn hurtling into a pillar with such speed and ferocity that she can feel her body heave and reel with the force. Bells ring in her ears and she shakes her head to cast it off. 

Her world is spinning. Dorian's magic is violet blurs that hiss and snap nearby. Cassandra is a gleaming star in panel of sunlight and she can hear the frantic calls for her as the undead warrior swings, left to right, sweeping his great blade across the field. It knocks Bull aside, who thuds in front of her and quickly gets back up. Her world is black at the edges, it caresses the sides of her vision. Her head hurts, like someone has jabbed an ice pick betwixt her eyes. She struggles, she has to get up. 

Her mind falters, stumbles, falls face first into the mud where darkness claims it. 

"Eowyn, you need to stay awake!" Dorian is begging her, she can feel the fire burning on his hands still, or is it remnants? He gives her a shake and she groans, "Eowyn, can you hear me?" 

"Uh-huh," Eowyn mumbles and swats Dorian away, or is that a figment of her imagination? She can barely see her Dorian, her best friend, through the haze. She can see the blue of his eyes, blue like ghostly water, and the darkness of his hair and the splash of milky dragon scales on his collar. 

A hand goes through her hair and she hears Dorian click his tongue. "Bull, pull her up onto your shoulders. _Gently_." 

"What's wrong, Dorian?" Cassandra's voice is a swirling hurricane and its makes her nearly throw up as Bull's strong arms go under her and heft her up. 

"Concussion, minor hemorrhaging. We don't have much time, I can teleport us back Skyhold where Vivienne and I might be able to.." 

" _Might?"_ Cassandra's voice raises a hair as Dorian's magic goes ringing off of the walls. Eowyn can almost see the way he casts - the delicate raise of his hands and then the playful glow that goes hissing off of the tips of his fingers before he summons. Its.. Such a pleasant thought. "I cannot believe you, Tevinter. Thinking this is a good idea." 

"Well, unless you want _me_ to heal her without Vivienne's help, Cassandra, be my guest but all I want is for her to be healed. As it is, she might have brain damage because of this, or worse." There is a snake bite to Dorian's words and she clutches Bulls armed shoulder as he begins to lumber forward into the black pit that she can only assume is a portal. Dorian was always good at portals. The sweet lull of sleep begins to cradle her in its arms as Bull's gait is like rocking and his warmth… Her eyes dare to flutter shut but her hair is pulled on gently. 

"Gotta stay awake, Boss," Bull tells her, his voice resounding through her. "We're almost home." 

"Bull.." She looks up at him and see the outline of his horns. "I want to sleep…" 

"Can't let you do that," He gives her hair a sharp pull and she shrieks. "See? Now stay awake." 

If she had the power, she'd kick him. All of a sudden the world opens up around them and the sky pours. It shines across grey blurs and in the clouds. Her eyes cry out in fear of the light and she screws her eyes shut. No. The black will come again, it… 

~.~.~ 

Alistair jumps at the sound of the Iron Bull bellowing for the Tevinter across the yard. It's so loud that it makes his ears ring and his spine shudder. Tossing aside his sword, he and a few of the spare Wardens that Eowyn has commanded stay in Skyhold, rush down the steps of their tower to the doorway. The Qunari is cradling Eowyn in his arms like she is a toy and he a timid child. He is patting her face and shaking her. 

"Dorian! Get over here!" Bull calls out again. She is limp in his hands and Alistair feels his heart leap into his throat. No.. No not her! He shoves past his brothers in arms and scurries over to Bull. Iron Bull turns an eye up at him. "You here to gawk?" 

Alistair frowns, "No, I'm here to ogle at the pretty lady you have in your arms. Of course I'm here to help! Tell me what to do." 

"Go find Vivienne and Dorian. They haven't come down yet and she's fading." Bull taps Eowyn's freckled cheeks some more as Alistair scurries up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time, opens a door and runs up more stairs that are lined with golden tiles. His breath is catching in his chest, his throat is scratchy from the air he took in too fast. 

Madame Vivienne stands at the top of the staircase, staff in hand, ever the epitome of grace before him. He has seen women like her before - proud, fear-provoking, mighty. Though the one he knows is a Warden-Commander and very proud, prouder than an Orlesian lion. The thought sends ire into his blood that burns so hot, heat rushes up his neck. 

"I take it you are looking for me because of Eowyn, yes?" The Madame enquires all too coolly. Alistair nods and she smiles like a fox with a hen. "Come with me, darling. No doubt we can remedy this." 

~.~.~ 

They tell him that she will be asleep for some time, and that he must remain with her. Apparently he is the only thing that she heard when they were fighting to keep her brain from pressing against her skull. Madame Vivienne had done everything she could, Dorian as well. They even called Solas in to help since the Madame had exhausted herself. It had been like watching the Battle for Ostagar all over again. Everything was slow, every word hung in the open air and he was helpless. They told him simply to talk to her, keep her awake. And he did, though he was screaming on the inside in horror, tearing his hair out at the roots. 

He fears, now, that she will die. 

She sits awake for some time and then goes back to sleep. Eowyn isn't herself, he can see it in her face and in the trembling of her hands when she holds something. There is a gauntness to her face now, slightly sunken cheekbones and pallid cheeks with bruises under her eyes from lack of sleep. The latter he finds unfathomable because she sleeps for so many hours like a cat in the sun. But he never leaves, he never falters. For her sake… And his. 

Eowyn sleeps in the middle of a great bed with a thousand and one furs piled on top of her little form. She sleeps curled on her side, arms languidly reaching for him. He leans back in his high backed chair and exhales noisily. His fingers pick at the arms of the chair, at the fine cotton that is all too soft to the touch. Alistair won't deny the growing concern in the pit of his belly, surging and receding like a tide of white sands. 

If he could take the pain in her and let him face the brunt of it, he would, but there is no force on this earth that could do so naturally. He is no mage, he cannot heal her. He is no rogue, he cannot steal medicine for her. He is a Grey Warden, the ones who the Maker smiles sadly upon, for there is no burden greater than the one they must bear. And he knows that if he had become king like Eamon had wanted, he would not have met the Inquisitor in the way he would have now. A king must have a queen, or so the stories say, and that Queen would have been Anora. The thought of the Landsmeet still makes him itchy under the skin. 

"Alistair..?" A hush breaks his throat. A glance up is all he needs to see the bright, golden eyes of Eowyn smiling at him. There is a sadness in them, a pain, but he cannot stop himself from lunging forward and taking her tiny, cold hands in his own. He kisses her cold knuckles and then the inside of her palm. A smile quirks up the sides of her mouth as he presses her hands onto either side of his face. His heart is galloping wildly, nearly in tears. 

"Thank the Maker, you're alive," Alistair whispers and she giggles. It’s a soft sound, like chimes in the wind. "Do you need anything?" 

Eowyn shakes her head, flipping a few chestnut waves into her face, "No.. Just.. very weak." He lays down, still clutching her hands - they're too cold for his liking - and watches her. Her eyebrows furrow, "How long have you been there?" 

"A few days. I was told to watch you by Madame Vivienne and Dorian," She smiles at the names, but he continues. "You missed out on some excellent stories." 

She holds his hands with her little ones, "Like?" 

"It was all the good ones; the Archdemon, my dark secrets, even some fantasies.." 

Eowyn's gold eyes go wide, "What?" 

"Oh nothing." 

She giggles again, this time it’s a bit stronger and less drowsy, "Why would you tell me that? I.. I was asleep." 

Alistair smirks, "I'm joking, my dear lady. I read to you, mostly." 

"Oh," Settling back into the pillows, she stares back at him. "Thank you for.. keeping me company." 

He kisses her hands again and they're warmer than before. They are callused more on the left hand than the right, which has calluses on the palm and up to the second knuckle. They are beautiful, slender and like that of a harpist's. He closes his eyes and listens to her laugh as the scruff on his face tickles them. _Never again_ , he thinks, _Will I let you go into danger._


End file.
